Traitor to the Crown
by amba gurl
Summary: this is Numair's Story! of how he was betrayed be Ozorne, and fled to Tortall, where he learns that not all Monarchs are bad. this is my first FF, so dont expect it to be absolutely stunning!
1. Prologue

Prologue

Prologue

The blonde woman slipped her arms around the neck of the young man seated at the table, grinning at cheekily.

The man chuckled, and placed the parchment he was reading back on the table, as the woman planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Varice, m'dear, that's not proper, you know," he remarked, his lips curving into a smile.

Varice snorted, and withdrew from him, seating herself primly on the ruffled bed.

"You're one to talk, Arram," she retorted, referring to his well-known tendency to invite his dinner partners to his bed.

Arram chuckled again, stretching his overly long arms above his head and yawning.

The two's conversation was cut short by a crisp knock on the door as a voice floated through the wood: "Arram, open up! Its important!"

Varice raised an eyebrow, and stood languorously, her pale pink gift sparkled in Arram's vision as she used it to set her appearance in order.

Arram raised an eyebrow in return, and she gave a trilling laugh, before exiting the room through a door opposite the one where the voice had come from.

Chuckling, Arram walked over to the door and pulled it open, staring as he saw his colleague Harwin Duiker standing irritably outside the door, before he barged past Arram and slammed the door behind him.

Harwin spun around and faced Arram, anxiety plain on his face; "You have to leave Arram." He stated immediately.

Arram stared at him in shock, before he found hies voice. "Why?"

Harwin looked agitated. "Ozorne has decried you a traitor to the crown, and ordered your arrest, and," his voiced dropped to a whisper, "it is common knowledge that he wishes you dead."

"What!?" Arram yelped, "I didn't do anything! I haven't even seen the emperor in months!"

Harwin shrugged, then continued as he made his way to the door, "you better leave, or you can no longer call yourself a free man. Go to the port, I'm sure you can buy yourself a passage to somewhere from there, but you better leave tonight. Goodbye my friend, and have a safe journey."

With that, Harwin left the younger man extremely confused and anxious and slipped out into the night.


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One: Escape

A/N thank you to Kate of Carley for her review LOL it's my first!

Muttering to himself, Arram rummaged anxiously through his belongings, tossing clothes, food, coins, and so on into two non-descript travelling bags.

When he was halfway through a drawer, he suddenly realised that he was wearing his black mage's robe. He cursed, realising that it would tell anyone that he was a black robe; the highest level a mage could rise.

He quickly stripped them off, before slipping into a plain but well-made tunic and leggings, before pulling on a pair of boots that came up to mid-calf, and settling a dark cloak around his shoulders. He removed the ornate chain that held the cloak on, and threaded a mere leather thong through the holes. He topped it all off by added a non-descript dagger to his belt.

- better to be safe than sorry – he thought dryly as he secured the dagger sheath.

After he had gotten all he could fit into the bags, his anxious thoughts turned to Varice, his blonde lover. He couldn't ask her to come with him, their relationship wasn't really like that, it was more for pleasure on their parts than anything else.

Sighing, he shouldered his bags and cautiously opened his door, taking a last look at his apartment, which was now dark due to the fact that as Harwin had left a breath of air had seeped into the room and blown it out.

Leaving the apartment door locked, he quickly dodged into the shadows and looked around cautiously, jumping at the slightest sound. As soon as he had judged that there was no one currently in the vicinity he crept down to the docks, cringing whenever he heard guards.

After another half-hour, he finally arrived at the docks, where he wandered until he found himself outside a run-down old pub, going by the name The Seagulls Spirit, from which came the sound of brawls.

Hesitating, the young man looked doubtfully at the building, half-expecting it to fall down at any moment. Sighing, he squared his shoulders and entered the building, stooping so to fit his tall frame through the door.

As soon as he entered, a young red-headed woman glided over to him, her dress insufficient to even attempt to cover her rather large bosom. She batted her eyelashes at him seductively, before speaking in a drawling tone.

"Fancy havin' a li'll tumble, milord?" asked the prostitute, raising an eyebrow at him as she swayed her hips suggestively.

Arram gave her a look, then answered with a small smile. "Not right now, miss, but I would like some information."

The woman cocked an eyebrow, and answered with a cocky smile, "And what might you want to know, that a lowly little lass like me might be able to help you with?"

"I was wondering if you know if there are any sea captains that are leaving port anytime soon, and if any might be willing to take passengers."

"And where might you be wanting to go?" she asked him, leaning against a table.

"Tortall, most probably."

"Well, you could try ol' Garrod over there," she said, nodding towards the left, and when Arram looked, he spotted an almost-decent looking man sat and traded banter with another man whom Arram could not see.

When Arram thanked the woman, she merely shrugged, her dress falling lower, and glided over to where another man was staring at two exotic dancers on the bar.

Arram slowly made his way over to the man, trying not to draw attention to himself. When he stopped before the man, he waited for him to finish his conversation, his good up-bringing kicking in.

When the man finally noticed him, he raised an eyebrow, silently asking him what he wanted.

Arram cleared his throat nervously, before speaking quietly to the man.

"Good evening, sir, I heard that you were heading to Tortall soon, and I was hoping I might be able to buy passage on your ship?" Arram asked hopefully, vaguely noticing that the other person at the table had stood up and left.

"Aye, that is correct, but why would someone like you-" he eyed Arram's well-made clothes, "-who looks as though he's used to living well, want to spend a week and a half on a ship for?"

Arram hesitated, then consented to tell some of the truth. "Well, if you must know, I need to get away from political problems." As he spoke, his shoulders had drooped when he said the word "problems".

The captain eyed the young man in front of him; he was tall, with black hair, a prominent nose and serious eyes, though he thought he detected a spot of humour in eyes.

"All right then, you can buy passage, but-" here he raised his finger and looked at him seriously, "-only if you pitch in and do your fair share of work. I'm not gonna have a layabout on my ship. Now, what's your name?"

Arram's mind raced; of course he couldn't give his real name, Ozorne would discover where he had gone in no time at all. He quickly picked out a name, and spoke it with a small smile.

"Salmalin. Numair Salmalin."

A/N by the way, can anyone tell me what OC and OOC means? I can never understand it when I'm reading other people's stories!

Anyway, review! And tell me wat you all think!


	3. Authors Note

After another half-hour, he finally arrived at the docks, where he wandered until he found himself outside a run-down old pub,

A/N ok, I know this is really early in the story, but can someone give me some ideas for some new characters? :)if you do I might even give them major parts!

Ok, I'll need:

- gender

- age

- hair colour

- personality

- facial features

- special abilities

ok, thankyou if you do this! 


	4. Chapter Two

Chapter Three: The Voyage

A/N thanks to Litara for the character of Erik! Keep reading!

Numair Salmalin yawned as he watched Carthak disappear into the early-morning horizon. He felt a tug on his heart as he turned away from the rail, and staggered across the moving deck towards a door set on the starboard side of the ship.

He stumbled when the ship gave a rather sudden lurch, and gave a cry as he hit the opposite rail, almost toppling into the sea. He was startled when a hand grasped his upper arm until he had regained his balance.

He turned to his rescuer, taking in a man who looked to be in his mid thirties, with light brown skin and hair pulled back tightly into a short horsetail. The man was grinning at him, and Numair noticed that he had a small scar on his cheekbone, underneath his green-gray eyes. Two gold teeth flashed in the early morning sun.

"You aught ta be more careful, young master," he said solemnly, but his wide grin and sparkling eyes gave away his humour.

Numair smiled nervously; he didn't know if he could trust anyone. "Thank you, sir." He held out his hand, "Numair Salmalin."

The man shook his hand solemnly. "Erik Redman. This your first voyage, Mr Salmalin?"

"How can you tell?" he answered dryly, "And its just Numair. No 'Mr Salmalin' please."

Erik laughed. "Then its just Erik for me too, Numair. Was there anywhere in particular you wanted to go?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Er, yes actually, I was just wondering where the captain might be."

Erik grinned at him again. "Follow me, my friend."

He headed towards the opposite end of the ship, and Numair staggered after him, half-jealous that the man could walk perfectly over the heaving deck.

Erik lead him through a door in the aft of the ship, and then down some steps, stopping before a door that was completely bare except for a small sign that read "Captain's Cabin". Erik banged on the door, and Numair stood behind him.

"Come in," called the captain's voice, and Erik pushed open the door, before pushing Numair in through the opening.

"Ah, Mr Salmalin," said the captain, who was seated behind an old desk; "And what might I be able to do for you?" he looked at Numair, who was fiddling with something in his pocket.

"I was wondering what you wanted me to do on your ship, Captain." Numair answered promptly, meeting the captain's thoughtful eyes.

"Well to tell you the truth, I don't know what to do with you. Have you any talents that I can use? What did you do before you embarked on a trip to Tortall?"

Numair looked at him nervously, having seen the captain holding a transparent globe in his hand. "I worked at the University, sir."

The captain glanced at the globe in his hands, which from Numair's angle had spouted a small spray of pure-white powder in its centre. He sucked in his breath. A truth globe.

He stared at the globe in fascination, and didn't hear the captain's next question. "Excuse me?" he blinked, realising that the captain had spoken to him.

He raised an eyebrow. "Pay attention, lad. I asked what you did there."

"I worked in the library. Well, mostly the library."

The captain sighed, and tucked the globe into his pocket; "Well then, I don't really see what you can do on this ship. But if I call you to do something, you better hop to it." His eyes sparkled as he saw Numair glance at his overly long legs.

"Yes, captain. I'll head back to my cabin, then." Numair exited the room, and didn't notice that Erik was still outside, seemingly waiting for him. As an example, he almost ran into him.

"Were you waiting for me, Erik?" he asked, surprised. He hadn't expected his new acquaintance to be like that.

Erik, who was again grinning, spoke in a queer tone. "Well, I couldn't very well leave you to get knocked off of deck again, could I?"

Numair smiled sheepishly, and thanked him again. Erik waved him off. "It was my pleasure, Numair. Don't mention it. You know the way to your cabin?"

Numair thought for a moment, then nodded, before heading off down the hallway.

Erik watched him leave thoughtfully, then quickly went to his own cabin, locking the door and sending out a pale green gift to completely cover all of the walls; a foolproof against eavesdroppers.

He crossed to his bunk, and kneeling, drew a strange symbol with his finger on one of the bed panes, which immediately popped open, revealing a hidden compartment.

Erik reached in and pulled out a small mirror, which was surrounded by small images of animals. He held it up to his face, and blew on it, before whispering two words. "Whisper Man".

A face immediately swam into view on the mirror, a face that had a cunning look and humourous hazel eyes. Now he had a serious look on his face.

"Erik," acknowledged the whisper man, "What news?"

Erik grinned at him. "We got a mage on this ship. And he's really strong, I'd say a gray-robe, at the least."

"He didn't find out about your gift, did he?" the Whisper Man's gaze became sharp.

"No, thanks to your wife's charm." Erik grinned at him, and fished out a small pendant on a chain, holding it up to the mirror.

The Whisper Man's face grew calm, and he gave his spy new orders. "Watch him, befriend him, but be careful, he may be one of Ozorne's spies."

Erik nodded, and cut off the magic, before sighing and hiding the mirror in its hole again.

A/N Can anyone tell me how to make things italic and such? I can't figure it out! And also how do you put those lines in between two different things?


	5. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

A/N I own only those characters you do not know, lol. Thanks to all my reviewers! By the way, a gray robe mage (I made it up) is a high post, about two or three under black. Enjoy!

Numair was restless. He had been on the ship for over a week, and the captain had said that they would arrive in Port Legann, Tortall, by nightfall.

Numair sighed, and slumped onto his bunk, thinking longingly of his old home in Carthak. He had been surprised to realise that he had forgotten to pack his black mage's robe into his bag; he must have left it on his bed. He sighed again, and looked up when he heard a chuckle from his doorway.

"Missin' your sweetheart, Numair?" Erik asked, lounging against the doorpost. Numair grinned ruefully at him, and answered softly. "Not really, Erik, I'm actually missing my extra large, four-poster bed."

Erik had a look of mock-horror on his face when he spoke again: "Your feet stick too far off of your bunk, eh? Or is it the lumpy mattress?" Erik's eyes sparkled mischievously.

Numair sorted with laughter, and missed the calculated look in Erik's eyes as he asked his next question.

"What are you planning to do once we reach our destination?" Erik watched with interest as Numair sighed and slumped against the wall.

"Oh, I don't know. Wander around, see the sites, visit the capital. Why do you ask?" Numair turned his head and examined Erik, a small tingle of suspicion worming its way into his mind.

"Erik shrugged. "No reason," he said innocently, and then stood upright, leaving the cabin with a wink.

**x.X.x**

Numair slung his bags onto his shoulders, and departed the ship, stepping onto Tortallan soil. He looked around, and not noticing any places where he might stay the night, he sighed, and headed towards an alley that didn't look as foreboding as some. He didn't notice three shadows following him soundlessly through the dark evening.

An hour later, Numair slumped down onto an overturned barrel, rubbing his aching arms where the bag straps had rubbed through his thin tunic. He suddenly heard a noise, and when he stood up and peered into the shadows, three dark shapes detached themselves from the wall, and spread out around him.

The one directly in front of the unmoving Numair spoke in a deep baritone. "Ozorne wants you dead, mage. So you can come quietly, or…" his hand went down to caress his blade, and he raised an eyebrow.

Numair's black gift suddenly spurted out of his hand, hitting two of his assailants, knocking them back and omitting a sickening thud as their heads collided with the walls of the alleyway.

The one who had spoken suddenly threw a glass globe at Numair, but Numair quickly threw a spell at it, and it reversed direction and hit the assailant square on the chest. He screamed as he was pulled into a vortex of yellow light.

Numair shuddered, and looking down he realised that his spell had somehow dragged one of his bags with it into the vortex. Searching the remaining bag he groaned. The one that had disappeared had contained his money pouch. He now had no money whatsoever.

Sighing, he stood up, and taking his bag he continued down the alley, not knowing and hardly caring where he was going. He didn't want to be found anywhere near the bodies of the two men in the morning.

He also didn't notice that there was another shadow that was watching his retreating back.

**x.X.x**

Erik sucked in his breath and narrowed his eyes. Numair was a stronger mage than he had thought. He crouched down lower in the shadows and contemplated what the man had said.

"Ozorne wants you dead." He guessed that the mage must have gotten on the bad side of someone close to the Carthakian Emperor.

He pulled his gold mirror from a hidden pocket, repeating the ritual until his employer swam into view.

"Erik." The spymaster acknowledged. "What have you got?"

"I'm in Port Legann, milord, and you know the mage I told you about? Numair?" the spymaster nodded, and Erik continued, "Well, he ain't no spy. He just got attacked by three blokes who said they worked for Ozorne."

The spymaster frowned, and spoke slowly, "Do you know where he is? Where he's going?"

Erik looked around the corner of the building, and swore, because he had lost sight of the mage.

"He _was_ behind me, but he's not there anymore. I'll call you back when I find him."

The spymaster nodded, and shimmered out of view.

Erik stood up and walked cautiously down the alleyway, thinking of the high-level magic that Numair had just used.

**x.X.x**

Numair settled down in the end of an unused alleyway, and set up a protective circle around where he was lying, and settled down to sleep.

Before he drifted off, he made up his mind to leave Port Legann, and travel to Corus, the capital of Tortall. He sighed, and turned over, before drifting off to sleep.


	6. Chapter Four

A/N Ok, I didn't think

A/N Ok, I didn't think it would be worthwhile to drag on and on about cold nights for a whole chapter, so I just skipped Numair's trip to Corus. To sum it up it was cold, wet, and muddy. Enjoy!

Numair sighed and dragged himself into a sitting position. He winced. He had used a more powerful spell than he had meant to the night before.

He packed all of his things into his remaining bag and fastened his dagger to his belt, before removing his protective shield. Stepping into the sunlight, he sucked in a deep breath and yawned, rubbing his sore eyes.

_Its too dangerous to stay in this city_, he thought to himself, _If those men found me so easily, I must have slipped up somewhere. Maybe I shouldn't have befriended Erik. _Numair sighed, and started to walk towards the outskirts of the city, planning to take the main road to Corus.

**x.X.x**

Two weeks later…

Numair sucked in his breath as he stared in awe at the city of Corus. His tired and sore body was forgotten for the moment as he straightened up and blew out his breath as a silent whistle, marvelling at the sight before him.

Shrugging his battered bag higher, he strode down the hill, his long legs making the journey shorter.

Numair looked much the worse for wear; his clothes had become absolutely coated in mud and dust while he had been wearily trekking to Corus. It had been a rare occasion indeed when he had been able to catch a ride on a cart or some such.

After a ten-minute trek, Numair arrived at the gates of the city, and was approached by a guard. The man eyed the mage idly, before speaking in a bored tone. "What be yer business in Corus, young master?

Numair looked at him, startled; people didn't ask things like that in Carthak. He answered the guard nervously, "I'm looking for a job, Guardsman."

The guard raised an eyebrow. "And what can you do, lad?"

Numair's mind raced, but then he thought back to the past year, when his old friend Lukas had gotten it into his head to teach his "nerdy" friend as he called Numair, how to juggle. It had taken a while, but he had succeeded. He gave a weak smile. "I can juggle."

The guard interest perked up, and he grinned at him. "Care to show me?"

Startled by the question, Numair agreed, and looking around spotted two empty tin cups and two tin plates sitting on an upturned table.

He picked them up and tested their weight; they matched each other almost perfectly.

He steaded them in his hands, and remembering his old lessons, began to rhythmically juggle them, getting faster and faster until he began to toss them behind him. He stopped quite suddenly, and when he looked up he was startled to see a crowd gathered around him, all clapping enthusiastically.

The guard laughed and clapped a hand on Numair's tall shoulder. "You can go in, lad," he said, his eyes sparkling; "And might I say that you are quite talented! You could easily make a career out of that."

Numair flushed, and thanking the man placed his juggling tools on the table, before shouldering his bag and trudging into the city.

**x.X.x**

_Well, now I have a cover-up for the reason of my stay. _Numair thought to himself, as he trudged down the main street of Corus. _I'm a travelling acrobat._

He silently thanked his old friend Lukas for his painstaking task of teaching him to juggle, and grinned to himself. At least he wasn't too rusty.

He entered a crowd in the main square, but was soon pushed up against a stall as the crowd broke in two and the whole crowd erupted into whispers as they stared down the path.

Numair strained and managed to catch sight of a group of knights, bt then he noticed that the one at the head of them was a woman. A woman with an amethyst gift. He stared at her, fascinated by her brand of magic. She was a healer.

She suddenly looked his way, and he sucked in his breath in amazement. She had purple eyes!

"Who is that?" he whispered to a woman standing next to him. She turned and looked at him, quickly taking in his handsome, though obviously foreign features. She looked up at him through her lashes, before answering his question.

"That be the Lioness, milord. Jani," she thrust out her hand.

"Numair," he said, shaking her hand; and turning found himself looking at a slim, young brunette, who was looking at him flirtatiously.

He quickly made up an excuse and went in the opposite direction of the Lioness, having heard that she could spot magic a mile away.

He headed down an alley, and slumped against a wall, managing to get behind a pile of scrap iron before sighing and falling into an exhausted sleep.

**x.X.x**

Alanna the Lioness fiddled with her amethyst necklace, and was startled when she suddenly saw a burst of black gift. Turning towards it, she saw an extremely tall man, with dark black hair, disappear down an alley.

Shrugging it off, she turned back to continue her barter over a new chain mail shirt.

A/N Alanna's entered the story! She wont come back until another chapter or two, but expect the unexpected! LOL


	7. Chapter Five

A/N I know, Alanna's not the type to just let someone who peaks her interest go, but lets just say she doesn't want to barge t

A/N I know, Alanna's not the type to just let someone who peaks her interest go, but lets just say she doesn't want to barge through the crowd. Thanks to all my new reviewers! Enjoy!

Numair woke to a splash of water on his face, and opened his eyes to an angry gray sky that looked ready to burst.

He groaned. This was _**not**_going to be a pleasant night. He quickly checked to make sure he hadn't had anything stolen during his nap, and uncurled from his position, wincing as he flexed stiff muscles.

He examined his surroundings, and sighed. The best shelter available was where he now was. He burrowed underneath the scrap iron, pulling some over the top of him to act as a sort of roof.

Thunder suddenly boomed overhead, and he flinched, reaching back into his bag and pulling out a thick, waterproof cloak, though it too was decidedly shabby.

He pulled the cloak over the top of him, and burrowed into a narrow depression in the ground, resigning himself to wait out the storm.

**x.X.x**

The next morning dawned bright and clear, and found a rather bedraggled mage hiding under a pile of extremely wet iron.

Numair crawled out from under his shelter, dragging his meagre belongings after him. He stretched, and worked the kinks out of his muscles. He sighed, and let his arms hang loosely but his side, his eyes roaming over the ground before him.

He suddenly spotted a small pile of round, steelish-coloured rocks, and crossed over to have a better look. Numair crouched next to the pile, and gingerly reached out a hand to pick one of them up. It was much lighter than it looked.

He stared at the ball in fascination, holding it up to catch the light and admiring the shallow grooves etched all over it.

"You can have them if you want, laddie," croaked a voice from behind him. He spun around, his hand on his dagger, and beheld a rather frail looking old man, who was sitting in an old chair, fiddling with something in his hands.

"What are they?" Numair asked nervously, not noticing that he still held one in his hand.

The old man's eyes twinkled, and he spoke rather proudly; "They're my whittling rocks, me boy. They're rather rare these days."

"Then why would you give them to me?" Numair asked, rather perplexed by the strange old man.

"You look to be a good sort, not like those other rag-tags that hang around here most of the time. I reckon you'd look after them, not like them, they'd as sooner sell them as look at 'em."

"Thank you, master…?"

"You can call me Lukas." The old man said matter-of-factly.

"Master Lukas. I thank you, but I wouldn't be able to pay for them, you know." Numair was already thinking of using them as juggling balls or some such.

Lukas waved his hand, before looking up at him with a grin. "I'm a tad bit too old to carry burdens, laddie, and I've got to go down to Port Legann, where my grandson is getting married. I'd be more than grateful if you could help me to pack my cart."

Numair thanked the old man, much relieved that he wouldn't be in anyone's debt. He quickly helped the old man to carry out three trunks from his house, and harness an old nag to a rickety cart.

"Thank'ee kindly, laddie. And I believe I promised these to you." He grinned and handed Numair five of the queer 'whittling' stones, before waving cheerfully and heading off down the alley towards the gates.

**x.X.x**

Numair stood nervously at the edge of the main square, gazing at the group of nobles before him.

He sighed, and straightened his back, before placing a small tin before him, and taking up the balls that Lukas had given him. He started to rhythmically juggle them, vaguely noticing that a few people had stopped to watch his progress.

He started to do a few more moves, and increased his speed, adding new balls until he had the whole five in the air at once.

He suddenly stopped the balls and caught them in all in one hand, looking up and flushing at the size of the crowd before him, before giving a small bow as they all clapped.

It continued on like this for a week, Numair entertaining the lesser nobles by juggling, and collecting their meagre donations to spend on food. He never had enough for shelter.

One morning, more than a week since he had arrived in Corus, Numair was doing his juggling. One person in the crowd slowly moved out of Numair's line of sight, ducking into an alley and pulling a medallion from his pocket, holding it up to his face and whispering words into it.

"I've found the mage, my lord. What do want me to do?"

There was a pause, and then a voice hissed from the pendant. _"Kill him!"_

The man nodded and tucked the pendant away, before reaching into another pocket and pulling out a small, tube like thing that was about two hand spans long, but less than half an inch in diameter.

He carefully inserted a small needle-like thing into its end, and handling it carefully, edged around the corner of the building and aimed its tip at the juggling mage, sucking in a breath and putting his lips against the tip of the shooter.

Numair suddenly dropped into a bow just as the assassin blew out, and the spelled needle glanced the wall behind the mage harmlessly, though alerting Numair to the man's existence.

Numair grabbed his things and muttering an apology to the muttering crowd, fled down an alley, having spotted the mage-proof needle hit the wall. He himself had invented that spell. It could only be Ozorne himself who had given it to the assassin. He was one of the few that Numair had shared he spell with.

A/N heyhey! Numair's got an assassin on his tail! Ok, who do want to save him? Take your pick!

- Erik

- Alanna

or you could give me your own choice, it doesn't matter! Review!


	8. Chapter Six

A/N ok, I got the idea for the plot of this chapter from Bevin Brighteyes

A/N ok, I got the idea for the plot of this chapter from Bevin Brighteyes. He had a really good idea! Enjoy!

Alanna the Lioness leant against the fence, gazing with disinterest as her friends Lord Raoul and Duke Gareth the Younger sparred, snorting with laughter when Gary clipped Raoul's hip with his practice sword.

Raoul growled and stalked over to where Alanna was lounging on the fence. "I give up." He growled, dumping the wooden sword in a barrel; Gary followed suite, a triumphant smirk on his face as he too put his sword in the barrel, though with more grace than his friend had.

"Why don't we go down into the city?" Alanna offered eagerly, as much to get rid of Raoul's foul mood as to loosen her restlessness at being cooped up.

Raoul immediately cheered up and Alana rolled her eyes at Gary when Raoul started off down the hill. Gary grinned at her as they fell into step behind their tall friend.

**x.X.x**

"Pst! Lady Knight!" a voice suddenly hailed the Lioness from behind.

Alanna turned, gripping her sword hilt in her right fist, carefully surveying the alley behind her. She fixed her eyes on a man of medium height and darkish brown skin. His facial features were hidden in shadow.

Alanna raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, before speaking in a commanding tone. "What do you want? And who are you?"

The man grinned, and gold teeth flashed in the light. "You don't remember me? I'm hurt. Anyway, if you really are a 'helper of the people', you and your friends might want to make a left up ahead."

Alanna looked at him suspiciously. "Give me a reason, and I might play along." She felt Gary and Raoul come up behind her.

The man rolled his eyes and grinned. Two gold teeth flashed and Alanna caught a glimpse of green-gray eyes, above a small scar.

The man shrugged. "I just thought it might be worth your while, Lioness." He winked, before melting back into the shadows.

Gary and Raoul lunged forward, but the man had disappeared without a trace.

Raoul mused out loud. "I wonder what _is_ up the left alley."

"Only one way to find out," Alanna said decisively, and laid her hand on her sword hilt, before heading off down the alley. The two men followed the short woman closely.

The three knights turned the corner cautiously, each with their hands gripping their sword or dagger hilts. They suddenly heard feet slapping the cobbles ahead of them, then silence.

A voice suddenly spoke, and they carefully manoeuvred closer to hear what was being said.

"You're cut off, _mage_. Ozorne wants you dead. You can't escape, you know, so don't bother trying to fry me, like you did the others. The emperor trained me himself."

"He'll turn on you, too, eventually. Just like he turned on me." Said a different voice, this one with a slightly more cultured accent, unlike the first, which had a strange harshness to it.

The trio had managed to manoeuvre themselves into a spot where they could see who spoke. The first speaker, a medium sized man who looked to be in his late twenties, with dirty blonde hair, and who was holding an obsidian dagger, which glinted with a pale blue fire in Alanna's sight as she gripped her amethyst gem.

The other man was tall, with baggy clothes that were coated in mud, but looked as though they had once been of good quality. He had shoulder-length black hair, and his shaven face was handsome, with dark eyes and a sharp nose.

He was the one with the black gift that Alanna had seen.

The tall man glanced at the dagger that the assassin held, then raised his eyes and gazed at the other man. He slowly straightened from his slouched position and glared at the man with disdain.

"You really think you could get close enough to me to stab me with that knife?" he asked, nodding at the dagger. Without notice the assassin suddenly threw the knife, which seemed to cut through a blast of black magic the mage had thrown, and imbedded itself in his leg.

With a cry, the younger man collapsed, clutching at his leg. That was all the knights needed. Alanna ran out to the mage, noticing Raoul and Gary tackling the assassin.

She knelt down next to the prone figure, and examined the wound, taking note that the mage looked at her rather calmly, though there was pain in his eyes. Alanna glanced up at his face, before speaking calmly.

"I wont be able to heal you here, we'll need to get you up to the palace." The man nodded tightly, clenching his teeth in pain.

"Alanna. This one's dead." Gary called, and he and Raoul came over to their friend, kneeling down on the either side of her and looking at the man, whose gaze darted over them before returning to the Lioness.

"I'm going to need you two to carry him." Alanna said matter-of-factly. "I'm going to need Duke Baird's assistance with this one." She turned her gaze to the prone mage, before saying gently, "Do you want me to put you to sleep? It will be less painful." The man shook his head, a grim smile on his face.

"I'm not going to be completely helpless," he said dryly, before his voice cut off and he glanced down at the dagger. He narrowed his eyes, and Alanna nodded to her friends. They each gripped one of the tall mans arms, before following the shorter woman back up to the palace.

A/N ok, I'm going to end this story soon, because I'm getting close to the end of it. Unless anyone's got any ideas they want me to put into the story, I'm going to write the epilogue in a chapter or two! Review!


	9. Chapter Seven

A/N I could have put this in the last chapter, but I wanted to space it out

A/N I could have put this in the last chapter, but I wanted to space it out! Plus it was a bit long. Thanks to all my reviewers! Enjoy!

Numair leg was jolted as they walked, and he could feel the two men's concern, and noticed Alanna glancing back at him, a worried expression on her face. He struggled to stay awake, gritting his teeth and trying to ignore the pain threading through his body.

The guards at the gates allowed them through without hesitation. They looked at Numair with curiosity, but didn't question them. They knew the lioness too well.

The three knights carried Numair swiftly through the palace, until they stopped outside a tall, reddish-oak door. Alanna banged on the door, until it opened to reveal a tall, broad shouldered man who shone in Numair's sight with a healer's gift.

Alanna squeezed past him, Gary and Raoul right behind her. The duke was about to protest until he saw the half-conscious mage hanging between the two knights. He immediately set to work.

"Put him over here," the duke led them over to a workbench, and quickly spread a clean white sheet over it. The two male knights heaved the mage onto the bench, while Alanna filled Baird in on what had happened.

The duke walked back over to the bench and looked the mage in the eyes. "Can you tell me your name, young man?" he asked kindly.

"Salmalin," he replied tightly, grimacing in pain. "Numair Salmalin."

The duke nodded. "Ok, Numair, those men are going to have to hold you down while Alanna and I get the knife out. Its only in case you jerk while its coming out, and cause any extra damage."

Numair nodded, and the duke gestured for the knights to hold him down. He instructed Raoul and Gary to grasp his arms and feet.

"Alanna, can you channel your gift to me? I might need it rather quickly." The Lioness nodded, and they all braced the young mage down.

"Are you ready?" the duke asked Numair, who nodded, and clenched his teeth. The duke cut up Numair blood-drenched breeches, exposing the jagged cut with the dagger imbedded in it.

The duke grasped the dagger handle and gently began to pull it out, until Numair gave a cry of pain.

The duke nodded to Alanna, who placed her hands gently on either side of the wound, and sent a purple gift around his leg, easing the discomfort, until the duke finished removing the blade.

The duke added his gift to Alanna's, and the two colours mingled together, green and purple. The wound gradually shrank until all that was left was the dried blood on his leg.

The duke sighed, and gestured that the men could let go of him, and once they had, Numair dropped his hands and let his arms dangle over the side of the bench.

"Come now, young man, lets get you to a cot." The duke said kindly, and Raoul and Gary once again helped him to walk, though they mostly carried him across the room.

Alanna smirked and turned around as they helped him into a clean set of clothes, before the duke helped him into a cot.

"That was tiring," Alanna remarked, flopping down onto a seat near the cot, clearly meaning to stay. The other three followed suite.

Numair settled back against the pillows and gave a weary smile. "I thank you, my lords, lady, but I'm not sure if I can stay here."

Duke Baird raised his eyebrow. "You're not going anywhere until I say so, young man." He growled, though there was a spark of amusement in his eyes.

"Plus Jon will want to meet you." Alanna stated, throwing her feet up onto a spare chair. Raoul quickly swiped the chair, laughing as she gave a cry of protest.

The duke and Gary chuckled in amusement, and Numair gave a cautious smile, unused to women acting like that.

"If you don't mind my asking, who is Jon?" Numair asked curiously, and Alanna grinned, before mimicking a perfect court ladies voice; "Why, that would be his Royal Majesty King Jonathon the IV of Conte."

She grinned as the other knights roared with laughter and the duke gave a chuckle. Numair guessed that she wasn't that sort of lady. Especially since she was wearing breeches.

"Why would the king want to meet me?" he asked, suddenly apprehensive. "I'm no one special. I'm just a juggler, for gods sake!"

"No need to get upset, laddie," Alanna informed him comfortably.

The duke had noticed that his patient seemed to be a bit uncomfortable, so he spoke up. "I'm going to get you something to help you sleep, Numair. Don't worry, these people wont harm you." He left the room, soon returning with a cup of liquid that held a faint scent of grape.

Numair grimaced as the duke handed it to him, but complied to his wishes, downing it with one gulp. It had a bitter taste, in contrast to its sweet smell.

Numair choked and Raoul thumped his back, until he took a deep breath and managed to hold it steady.

"Thank you," he breathed, and Raoul grinned at him. The young mage leant back on his pillows and shut his eyes, falling asleep immediately.

The four of them watched the sleeping mage, until Duke Baird herded them all out of the sick room

Duke Baird caught Alanna's arm before she left, and whispered in her ear. "He'll sleep for all day and tonight, but be sure you're in shouting range tomorrow. He didn't look too happy about being told the king'll want to see him."

Alanna nodded, and with a glance back at the prone form, she followed her friends out of the sick bay.

A/N ok, I've decided to do 1-2 more chapters and then an epilogue! It depends how I feel! Enjoy!

Ps. Thanks to all my reviewers!


	10. Authors NoteAgain!

Ok, I wont be able to update for a few days, because my mum is tiling and the computers got to be moved

Ok, I wont be able to update for a few days, because my mum is tiling and the computers got to be moved. I'm sorry for it, but it will be well worth the wait!

Ps. The next chapter I write will be the last before the epilogue! So don't give up on me please!


	11. Chapter Eight

A/N ok, this was meant to be the last chapter before the epilogue, but it was too long, so I split it into two!

Enjoy!

"Alanna, are you sure he isn't a spy?" King Jonathon asked, leaning forward in his chair and peering at his champion intently.

Alanna rolled her eyes. "Jon, how many people would go so far as to get themselves stabbed in the leg by a an assassin who told him the Emperor wanted him dead?"

Jon sighed and rubbed his temple, before answering with a rueful smile. "Some people would go to great lengths to assassinate royalty, Alanna," he pointed out.

Alanna rolled her eyes. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll be with you when you see him." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Since you can't seem to protect yourself."

"That's not true, and you know it!" he growled, before leaning back in his chair and sighing. "When am I supposed to see him?"

"Whenever Baird says he's good to go," she replied, before standing and stretching. Seeing the kings raised eyebrow, she chuckled. "I've a hunch that my good-for-nothing husband is around the palace somewhere, and I haven't seen him in a few months."

Jon snorted, then waved his hand and saying imperiously, "You may go, King's Champion."

Alanna stuck her tongue out at him before turning and exiting the room, nodding to the guards who stood at attention outside the door.

She slowly ambled her way to her palace apartments, entering and grinning at the man who sat reading in an armchair next to a roaring fire.

"Evenin' Lass," he greeted her, wrapping an arm around her waist as she sat on the arm of his chair. She planted a kiss on his cheek before wrapping her own arm around his shoulder.

"It's good to see you, George," she whispered into his ear, smiling at him as he kissed her nose.

"Aye, lass, it's good to see you too," he replied. "So what have you been up to?"

Alanna shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, Raoul, Gary and I rescued a mage from an assassin yesterday." She offered.

George straightened, and looked at her intently. "What was this mage's name, lass?"

Alanna frowned, thoughtful. "I believe his name is Numair Salmalin. Why?" she looked at her husband curiously, for as had said the name, he had straightened up considerably, and was thoughtfully scratching his chin.

"You know him, I take it?" she said dryly.

"You could say that I know **of** him, lass," he answered. "I've had a few reports about him from one of my… informants." Alanna nodded; informants were the public name of his spies. "He is a powerful mage, and the Emperor of Carthak, Ozorne, wants him dead. This is the second assassination attempt I've heard of."

Alanna nodded slowly, before a thought wormed its way into her mind. She looked at her husband. "Would you come to his audience with Jon and me? You can make sure he doesn't lie."

George grinned up at her and nodded. "That would be a perfect excuse, lass. Thanks." Alanna grinned at him as he added off-handedly. "And it would be a good excuse to actually meet him; I've read and spoken with my informants enough about him."

Alanna suddenly stood up decisively. "If it's alright with you, George, I'm off to bed. It's been a long day, after all."

George grinned and nodded, and the two of them headed towards the bedroom, hand in hand.

**x.X.x**

Numair plucked miserably at the bed sheet next to him. He sighed mournfully. This was getting worse by the minute. Apparently his healer, Duke Baird he believed it was, had said he would be fit enough to see the king the next day.

Numair stretched out the leg that had been stabbed, grimacing at its stiffness. He glanced at the window, and sighed again. It was too small and too high to get through, with his gift at its weakened state. He frowned thoughtfully; healing always had that effect on him.

He rolled onto his and gave another sigh, fretting about his meeting the next morning. He eventually fell into a light and troubled sleep.

**x.X.x**

Alanna walked calmly into the ward, looking around and gradually veering to where the tall, dark-haired mage sat slumped on his bed.

She leaned against the wall next to the bed and gave a large yawn, then, glancing towards the mage, saw him looking at her nervously. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'm not a morning person," she muttered, and the mage gave a nervous smile, glancing up at the window. Alanna followed his gaze.

"It's time to go, laddie." She informed him, gesturing for him to follow her. He stood awkwardly and followed her out the door, walking slowly and with a slight limp.

Alanna glanced back at him and, seeing him limping, slowed her pace. "How does your leg feel?" she asked.

Numair gave a wry smile. When he spoke his voice was rich and intelligent. "About as good as it could be, considering that it was stabbed and then healed in rapid succession."

Alanna grinned at him before they stopped outside a door, where two guardsmen stood at attention on either side. They immediately let them through.

Numair hesitated, and Alanna turned, beckoning him into the room. He reluctantly entered.

A/N I know, it was a little boring, wasn't it? But I couldn't have you all confused over the next chapter, could I?

Review!


	12. Chapter Nine

A/N OK! This is definitely the last chapter before the epilogue! Beware! And thanks to my new reviewers! Enjoy!

Numair had been expecting to see an arrogant monarch, surrounded by expensive and useless things. He was mistaken.

When Numair entered the room, the conversation between two men who were in the room ceased, and they turned to look at them. It was easy for Numair to pick out King Jonathon; he was calm, handsome, with piercing blue eyes and an air of command about him. Numair also noticed that he had a sapphire blue gift.

As he looked at the king's companion, he encountered a piercing stare, but with no hostility in the calculating eyes that examined every inch of him. Numair looked at this man, and vaguely noticed that he had no gift.

"Alanna," Jonathon acknowledged her, before turning and gazing at the man before him. He noticed that the man looked extremely nervous. He grinned as the mage suddenly started and gave a fluid bow, but continued to dart nervous glances at the man leaning against the wall.

Alanna followed his gaze, and saw her husband staring at the man beside her. She glared at him, and when he met her gaze, gave an awkward grin, and took his penetrating gaze off of the mage.

"Sit," offered the king, gesturing at a few armchairs before him. "I heard that you recently had an… encounter with a dagger." His eyes sparkled with amusement. Alanna and George shared a look, the Lioness rolling her eyes and the Spy Master grinning. The king was trying to get the mage to relax.

Numair took the offered seat, sitting gingerly on the edge, nervousness in his every movement. He noticed Alanna walk over and lean against the man with the calculating eyes, and him put an arm around her.

Jonathon followed his gaze and grinned. "I don't believe you've met Baron George Cooper of Pirate's Swoop? He and Alanna are married." His sharp eyes noticed the surprise that flitted briefly across the man's features.

"Now, what was it that you did before you came to Tortall, young man?" Jonathon asked, leaning on his splayed and intertwined fingers.

Numair met his eyes nervously. "I worked in the library at the university of Carthak, my lord."

George frowned, and spoke abruptly. "Part Truth."

Numair's eyes betrayed his surprise, and the king took advantage of it. "Look, we know you're not telling the full truth, Numair. You may as well tell us the full truth. We might even be able to help you find a place to stay while you're in Corus."

There was a pause, Before Numair sighed and slumped back into his chair. "Since you have some way to tell if I lie or not, and with my gift at its… weakened state, I see no point in hiding." His voice was resigned, and with a hint of sadness.

"I was a student at the University. As I was raised in my coloured mage Robes, I befriended the current Emperor, Ozorne, as we had the same interests. A month or so ago, after Ozorne had been crowned Emperor, he turned on me. I was declared a traitor, and I left Carthak before Ozorne could have me convicted and sentenced to death. There's nothing else to tell."

Numair's voice had been quiet as he spoke, his shoulders slumped, and his voice filled with sadness.

There was a silence after he had finished speaking, then George spoke quietly. "That was the full truth, Jon."

The king leaned back and regarded he man before him. "Is Numair your real name?" he asked curiously.

Numair looked up in surprise. "No," he answered. "But I couldn't have Ozorne following my name. He has too many resources."

Alanna raised an eyebrow. "What is your real name then?" she asked curiously.

Numair gave a self-conscious grin. "Arram Draper, but I've warmed up to my new name."

Jon leaned forward and regarded the mage. "Would you swear fealty to Tortall, Arram Draper? You could be safe from Ozorne here."

Numair stared at the king, shocked. Alanna and George chuckled at the thunder-shocked look on the man's face.

Numair suddenly laughed, a full-throated noise. A delighted grin spread across his face. "I can really swear fealty?"

Jon nodded. "We would be happy to have you." He stated firmly, George and Alanna nodded vigorously when Numair looked at them. He took a deep breath.

"I'll swear fealty to Tortall, if they're all like you around here."

His three companions all had grins on their faces, until Jon suddenly asked a question that had niggling at the back of his mind.

"What level mage are you, by the way, Numair?"

Numair gave a self-conscious cough. "I'm a black robe, my lord."

Jon stared at him, and he heard the other two laughing at his expense.

"You look like a slapped maiden, Jon," Alanna chuckled, and they all grinned at the king, who had the decency to smile back at them.

A/N It wasn't that good, but I'm not that good at explaining serious conversations. It's just not in my capable mind to do so!

Review!

Ps. The next chappy is the epilogue, so it wont be that long!


	13. Epilogue

A/N it's almost over

A/N it's almost over! Thank you to all my wonderful reviewers!

Enjoy!

Numair shifted from foot to foot nervously. He glanced at the announcer, who was looking at with amusement. Laughing at his nervousness.

He suddenly turned around and walked out the door, and started to announce the mage.

"Numair Salmalin of Carthak, Black Robe Mage." He banged his staff of office and Numair walked out and down the steps, uncomfortable in the black robes that George and Alanna had insisted that he wear, to establish his office.

His view of George had changed considerably in the past week, and he had proven to be a hearty and interesting man to converse with, except for his use of street slang that Numair was a tad shocked by.

Numair suddenly came back to his senses and glanced around, taking in the masses of milling courtiers and knights, and the long red carpet that was between him and the throne.

He straightened his shoulders and walked down the carpet, reaching the throne and giving a deep, fluid bow. As he straightened, the king stood up and silenced the room with his hand.

"This banquet was designed to make welcome Numair Salmalin, who has just recently sworn fealty to Tortall. We welcome him to our country with open arms!"

There was a good deal of applause, and after the king had sat down again, and Numair walked off to the side, where he was caught by a group of maidens who had spotted his handsome features and apparent familiarity with the king.

Numair gave a wry smile. This wasn't much different from the balls in Carthak, though here the women with blonde hair seemed to be a bit more common.

Numair kissed the hand of a shapely blonde, who began flirting with him shamelessly, and leading him towards a shadowed out cove.

This seems to be a bitter better, he thought to himself, settling himself beside the lady and starting a conversation.

A/N well, that's it! Hope you enjoyed it! And I'm thinking of writing an Eragon fanfic, in case you're interested! Ps. it might have a bit of time travel in it!

Review!


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